Firing Artillery And Yelling At The Tailor

What I should've known

is this:

I should have known what

the color I'm thinking of is

and that it's dangling.



When the sun strikes it strikes you right in the

City of Sheep.

Do not turn away.

Do us a service.

Death--which comes to mind--is but one--and comes but once--

perhaps for the last time--

Take it by the scruff and scrub it to and fro.



You let the terrible stranger in (see "Being Repaired In Rivers 54")

and she gave e to the z on the imaginary rock of the terminal

cancer, quiet birds circling the assembly line.

The quiet birds bring lice and lungworms,

grubs, horn flies and sarcoptic mange mites.